


Were Stars to Burn

by MiaCooper



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Ending, Choose Your Own Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Memory Loss, Non-Linear Narrative, POV First Person, Prompt Fic, Second Person Audience, Selfless Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: Taking part in a ritual at an alien harvest festival has devastating consequences for Chakotay, and in caring for him, Kathryn is forced to face both her deepest fears and her feelings for him.





	Were Stars to Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bizarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bizarra/gifts).

> Bizarra requested J/C hurt/comfort with Janeway doing the comforting for a change. Happy birthday!

How should we like it were stars to burn  
With a passion for us we could not return?  
If equal affection cannot be,  
Let the more loving one be me.  
\- W H Auden, ‘The More Loving One’

★

  
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
You shook your head once, your smile reassuring. Your hand rested in mine. I didn’t believe you, really, but you wanted to spare me the knowledge that you were suffering. Even this close to the end, to the moments before everything changed, you were taking care of me.  
  
I cast about for something to say. Strange, that I was so conscious of everything I desperately wanted to tell you now that our time was running out, and yet no words would come.  
  
“Would you like me to read to you?” I asked at last. “I could have your books beamed down. Surely the Suhari won’t deny you that…”  
  
“Actually,” you said softly, “I think I’d prefer it if we just talked.”  
  
I nodded, then cleared my throat, then uttered a sigh that was silenced by your chuckle.  
  
“It’s just me, Kathryn,” you reminded me. “You’ve always been able to talk to me.”  
  
_Always_.  
  
The word meant little when we both knew _always_ would span the next few hours, not forever.  
  
So why was I wasting it?  
  
Aloud, brightly, I said, “Did I ever tell you about the time my mother caught me sneaking out of my bedroom? I was fifteen years old …”  
  
As I talked, absently taking stock of your non-verbal responses to my silly, self-deprecating story, most of my attention was taken up with cataloguing the events that had led us to this situation. Had the decisions I’d made, the actions I’d taken, been fundamentally flawed? Were my suspicions too slow to rouse? Should I have paid more attention? Did I overlook crucial clues in my eagerness to shake off the captain’s colours, just for a few days?  
  
Would caution and vigilance have saved you, or was there nothing I could have done differently?

★

  
  
Suha was a jewel of a planet. Lush jungles filled with brightly-coloured avians and fleshy, sweet-smelling flowers; beaches that stretched for kilometres of glittering white sands; balmy ocean waters in shades of indigo and violet. And the people – human-shaped, with skin and hair in a fantastic kaleidoscope of colours – were soft-spoken and welcoming, eager to host the crew for their shore leave.  
  
Over the past months we’d traversed several sparsely populated sectors of space; it had been some time since our last chance for a vacation, and almost as long since our last battle. Perhaps that was why I accepted the Suhari’s invitation so readily. Tom Paris, of course, was immediately enthusiastic, and the Doctor backed him up with a pithy lecture on the wisdom of adequate rest and recreation. Even Tuvok raised barely a token security concern.  
  
You were the only one who cautioned me.  
  
“Doesn’t it all seem just a little too good to be true?” you ventured after the others had filed out of the conference room.  
  
“Oh, lighten up, Chakotay,” I smiled, my mind on the spring in Harry’s step. He was still pining over Derran Tal, months after they’d parted ways, and I was relieved he’d found something to distract him. “Has there been anything in the Suhari data that gives you cause for concern?”  
  
“No,” you conceded, “but we’ve been fooled by first impressions before.”  
  
“You don’t have to remind me.” I held up a hand to halt you. “If it makes you feel better, Commander, I’ll order the ship to stay at yellow alert while we’re in orbit. And,” my smile widened as I rested a hip on the conference table beside you, “we could have continuous bridge coverage if you schedule my leave on different days to yours. That would mean I’d miss the Lethia Festival, though.”  
  
You tugged your ear, and I knew I almost had you: you’d been excited about that festival since you first skimmed the Suhari’s data transmissions. We’d planned to go together. I even had a new outfit.  
  
“I don’t want you to cut your leave short, Kathryn,” you said finally.  
  
“Good.” I leaned in, my hand on your arm. “Then maybe you’ll join me for dinner tonight? I’m told there are some restaurants in Mnimeio City that are out of this world.”  
  
Misgivings still flickered in your eyes as I spoke, but I was in no mood to heed them. Instead I did what I always do when I choose to ignore your counsel: I shifted closer, laid a hand on your chest, and lowered my voice to the whiskey tone I know you can’t resist.  
  
“Besides,” I husked, “I’ve been looking forward to spending some time alone with my best friend.”  
  
At that, your expression lightened and you brought your hand up to squeeze mine. “So have I,” you smiled.  
  
I should have been less focused on the evening ahead, and more on your very reasonable reservations.

★

  
  
But by the time we beamed down to Mnimeio City that night, your hesitation had been overcome thanks to your afternoon meeting with the Suhari minister for trade and tourism. Minister Ahlai had patiently explained Suhari history and taken you to visit the Temple of Sati, the cultural and religious centre where her daughter, Sidika, was a novitiate. Sidika looked of an age with Naomi Wildman but was, in fact, a dozen years older; the Suhari had a delayed aging process, and an elongated life span comparable to that of Vulcans.  
  
It was clever of Ahlai to have brought in the child. I had occasionally enlisted Naomi to soften you up when I wanted your compliance; apparently the good minister had figured that out about you in very short order.  
  
Maybe that was an unkind judgement. I didn’t get a sense that the Suhari were trying to obscure the truth from us, or that their intentions were malicious. Maybe the events that followed the Lethia Festival were entirely down to chance: tragic, but unpredictable.  
  
The night before the festival, though, we had no inkling of what was to come. We were shown to a table by the beach, at the restaurant where Ahlai had made a reservation for us. Candles were lit and fresh flowers laid in a bowl in the centre of the table. A sweet breeze curled up from the ocean, carrying with it the muted bell of boats in the distance, visible only by their bobbing lights. Between us and the other patrons was enough space to encourage frank conversation, and gauzy panels hung from the ceiling to further obscure our fellow diners, fluttering gently like bridal veils.  
  
The food was delicately flavoured, the wine refreshing. As we ate, we talked of light and inconsequential things; I felt so relaxed, in such tranquil and beautiful surroundings. After dessert and a drink that I could almost have been fooled into believing was genuine coffee, we walked slowly along the sand. I took off my shoes and felt the breeze lift my hair. When I felt your knuckles brush the back of my hand, I caught your fingers and laced them into mine.  
  
In that alien paradise, on that warm evening, in the seclusion of an empty beach, I wished, not for the first time, that this was all we were: just two people who preferred each other’s company to anyone else’s, free of all other responsibility. Free to make our own choices and take our own risks.  
  
Our steps slowed, and when we reached the rocky outcrop that delineated the beach, we stopped. I looked up at you. Your eyes were full of resigned affection, a faint smile twisting your lips. Your thoughts, it was clear, mirrored mine.  
  
Your expression made me sad, and on impulse I tiptoed up to press my lips to the corner of your mouth. You drew in a breath and I sensed the tightening of every muscle in your body. I eased back onto my heels.  
  
You said, “Kathryn,” then shook your head with a rueful smile. The tips of your fingers traced my jawline.  
  
For a moment I hesitated, and you waited, in case I was about to make a different choice, take the risk I’d backed away from every time we’d been at this point before. But hesitation meant time for rationality and caution to reassert themselves.  
  
So I stepped back, letting my demeanour settle into neutrality, watching you mimic me in the veiling of your own expression.  
  
“We should get back to the ship,” I said, and we walked back along the sand, far enough apart that our fingers wouldn’t accidentally touch.

★

  
  
“Tell me again about –” I could tell you were having to reach for the name – “Tuvok. Tell me how you met.”  
  
I ignored the pang of sorrow that thickened my throat. “He was an ensign who reviewed the mission logs from my first brevet captaincy. He was … not complimentary.”  
  
Maybe the memories were etched in the curve of my lips, because you reached out, the tips of your fingers brushing my jaw.  
  
You’d touched me like that barely more than twenty-four hours ago: a gesture that held the weight of our shared history and the feelings we had never fully expressed. This time, you touched me as if I was a curio you were examining.  
  
It made the breath stutter in my chest.  
  
“I’m sorry.” You pulled back. “I shouldn’t have –”  
  
“It’s all right.”  
  
I tried to smile at you, to reassure you. But my eyes were smarting, and it was hard to swallow around the ache in my throat. I found myself on my feet, hastening away from you, gazing out at the garden below us and not seeing a thing.  
  
Wishing we had never set foot on this cursed planet.  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
You spoke from just behind my left shoulder, and I jumped, scrubbing quickly at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “You startled me.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” you said again.  
  
Then, tentatively, you rested your palm on the nape of my neck, your fingers and thumb probing lightly into tense, corded muscles.  
  
“Chakotay …”  
  
I should have stopped you, but I couldn’t deny that it felt good: your warm palm, your strong fingers, your solid bulk at my back. My chin dipped forward, my eyes slipping closed. I let myself lean into you, bared shoulder blades brushing the soft fabric of your shirt, and felt you shift your stance to support me. Your fingers worked along the tendons of my neck and into my hair. Your breath tickled my cheek.  
  
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. But I didn’t move away, because after tonight I would never lean on you this way again.  
  
Your other hand settled on my hip, your touch so light it burned. My mind drifted to hours earlier, when we had stood much this way on a balcony, eyes turned to the view below, my thoughts on a future I’d started to hope was still possible for us. Your hand on my shoulder. Your body at my back. Your lips …

★

  
  
I’d slept late – a luxury I rarely afforded myself, even during shore leave – and spent the rest of my morning in B’Elanna’s company, bartering with a series of slippery Suhari merchants. After the third smiling trader tried to convince me to top up my acquisition of an overpriced subspace driver coil by purchasing several badly tuned phase compensators and a portable dilithium converter that would apparently out-perform _Voyager_’s warp core – B’Elanna muttered something vicious under her breath at that – I delegated further negotiations to Tuvok and dragged my chief engineer off for a long lunch.  
  
Later, sitting at my mirrored dressing table, brushing out my hair and slicking on lipstick, my mind wasn’t on the morning’s successful trading or the afternoon’s museum tour, or even on the unexpectedly gossipy conversation B’Elanna and I had enjoyed, prompted by several glasses of the local wine. I was, instead, preoccupied with wondering what expression I’d see in your eyes when you arrived to escort me to the Lethia Festival.  
  
Shrugging off my robe, I slipped into the dress I’d replicated. It wasn’t showy or especially obvious – just a silky, strappy shift – but you had once complimented me on a dress of similar design, and I hoped you would like this one. And me in it.  
  
Dressed and shod, I stood in front of the mirror, examining my reflection. Imagining the way you would look at me when I answered my door. The way you’d stand just a little too close, just enough that my breath would catch. The way your hand would hover over the small of my back as we walked.  
  
And then, naturally, doubt crept in, and I began to think I should make my excuses. Because my anticipation of the evening ahead had nothing to do with enjoying an alien cultural celebration, and everything to do with you.  
  
Too late: the chime rang at my door, and I cleared my throat before calling, “Come.”  
  
I went out to meet you in the neutral zone of my living room. You stopped short when you saw me and your eyes widened a fraction, before you covered the reaction with a veiled smile. But that was the moment I’d been eager for: that moment before you hid behind that steady, supportive persona you wore.  
  
“You look beautiful,” you said sincerely.  
  
“Thank you,” I answered briskly, to cover the extra breath your proximity had compelled me to take. “Ready to go?”  
  
You held out your closed hand. “I have something for you first.”  
  
I stood my ground as you stepped closer, uncurling your fingers to reveal a silver necklace, weighted at two points with unequally sized glass discs.  
  
“It’s Earth and her moon,” you pointed from the larger disc to the smaller, and my eyes prickled as I realised you were right. One glass circle glowed blue, splotched with white and green; the other swirled grey and white.  
  
“Where did you find this?” I asked, hushed.  
  
“I had it made at a jeweller’s stall in the market this morning. Here,” and you touched my shoulder, indicating I should turn.  
  
Your hands were warm and steady as you hung the chain around my neck. Your fingers brushed my nape as you fastened the clasp, and I tried to control a shiver.  
  
“There,” you murmured, stepping back, “now you’ll always be close to home.”  
  
I turned, touching the pendant and then your chest, lightly. “Thank you,” was inadequate, but your smile told me you knew how deeply I meant it.  
  
We beamed down at dusk and were met at the transport coordinates by Minister Ahlai and her daughter. Sidika was dressed in white robes, her face painted with silvery swirls, her dark-blue hair slicked into a coil at her nape.  
  
“She is taking her vows tonight,” Ahlai explained as we walked the short distance to the Temple of Sati. “The rest of her life will be dedicated to serving justice.”  
  
“What does that mean?” I addressed the child. She was so young, even accounting for the slower Suhari aging process. I couldn’t believe she was mature enough to make a choice that would profoundly impact her entire life span, and I wondered for the first time if there was rot beneath the lush surface of Suha.  
  
“She can’t answer you.” Ahlai smiled at me. “From tonight she must be silent. Tomorrow she begins her training, and in a dozen years’ time she will have learned enough to speak in judgement of others.”  
  
Frowning, I tried to puzzle that out, and Ahlai laughed.  
  
“There’s nothing sinister about it, Captain. Novitiates at the Temple of Sati are truth-seekers. When their training ends and they take their orders, they serve the people of Suha as arbiters and negotiators. Some become diplomats or politicians.”  
  
“Like you?”  
  
“Yes, like me.”  
  
“Why the vow of silence?”  
  
“Speaking impedes learning,” replied Ahlai. “To know the truth, once must listen. To reveal what is hidden, one must observe. To judge a heart, one must understand with all one’s senses.”  
  
I glanced at you, saw approval on your face, and couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Of course you would enjoy a society that spoke in riddles and allegory.  
  
“What happens if a novitiate breaks the vow?”  
  
“They are guided in a different direction,” Ahlai answered, a touch glibly for my liking. But before I could continue questioning her she segued into an explanation of the Lethia Festival. You had heard it before, I knew, but as my suspicious nature had been roused, I listened carefully.  
  
It was a harvest festival of sorts, held as the Suhari reaped the last of the _sidero_ fruit, a rare delicacy they ate only on this one night of the year. _Lethia_ meant ‘unburdening’ – or, as the inscrutable Ahlai put it, “that which is hidden will be disclosed; that which is truth will be forgotten” – a chance for citizens to leave behind petty disputes and bare their feelings to each other. A chance to shed secrets and burdens.  
  
“First there will be a banquet,” Ahlai told us, “then dancing. Then the _sidero_ fruit will be served before the Unburdening Ritual.”  
  
“What happens then?”  
  
“Some people will visit the temple to pray or meditate. Others will gather together in pairs and small groups – however the _sidero_ guides them – to make amends, or make peace after a quarrel. Or make love, if their instincts compel it.”  
  
My head turned sharply. “This is a mating ritual?”  
  
Ahlai laughed. “It’s true that many Suhari children are conceived on this night each year, but the festival is much more than that. Don’t worry, Captain,” she lowered her voice, sending me an impudent glance, “the _sidero_ would never induce you to behave in a way contrary to your beliefs, or to compromise your integrity. It might, however, inspire you to reveal thoughts and feelings you’ve habitually kept concealed.”  
  
Her glance slid over to you, then back again as her smile grew wide.  
  
“The _sidero_,” you cut in smoothly – rescuing me, as always, from the potential for diplomatic humiliation – “you mentioned it guides the way people behave. How?”  
  
“I can’t explain it,” Ahlai said simply.  
  
“Because it’s a secret, or because you don’t know?”  
  
“For both of those reasons.”  
  
I opened my mouth to question her further, only to be halted by your hand on my arm. Ahlai moved politely ahead as you spoke to me softly.  
  
“Kathryn, I suspect this is one of those things you’re going to have to take on faith.”  
  
“That’s never been my forté,” I muttered. “We should at least scan the fruit to be sure it won’t make us sick.”  
  
You opened one side of your jacket to reveal the tricorder in your inside pocket.  
  
“Very forward-thinking of you, Commander.”  
  
And you leaned in and whispered in my ear: “I’d tell you what else I’m thinking, but I’m pretty sure you’d find it _too_ forward.”  
  
My stride faltered briefly, and I pressed my lips closed as I quickened my step to catch up with you and Ahlai.  
  
We’d arrived at the temple and skirted around it to the lavish gardens at the rear, where Ahlai led us up a wide stone staircase to an expansive pavilion. There were white-clothed tables laden with food, enormous urns of colourful flowers, and tiny lights strung between pillars. A group of musicians played an intricate melody that seemed to vary each time I thought I had a handle on it. And the crowd was dazzling: a riotous kaleidoscope of colour and laughter, dotted here and there by black-clad servers and white-robed novitiates.  
  
I felt your hand settle warmly on the small of my back. Not possessive, not quite protective. Just letting me know you were there.  
  
Sidika moved silently away from us toward a cluster of other novitiates, and Ahlai directed us to one of the buffet tables, pointing out her favourite plates while you scanned the food surreptitiously. She excused herself to greet someone, and you nodded at the tricorder display. “I’m not detecting any toxins.”  
  
“Good,” I replied, pitching my voice low, “because I’m hungry,” and I let my gaze linger over your body. You swallowed hard as you registered the direct hit, and I hid the smirk that wanted to break free.  
  
The novitiates’ duty included serving wine to those celebrating, and Sidika seemed to have assumed the role of our personal attendant. I wanted to ask her why she’d chosen the path of the truth-seekers, if she’d chosen it. But when I addressed her directly she only smiled and lowered her eyes.  
  
“Dance with me,” you murmured when we’d eaten our fill. Maybe you just wanted to distract me from my curiosity. If so, it worked; from the moment you led me into the centre of the floor, my attention was wholly focused on you.  
  
I lost track of time. I was preoccupied with your gentleness and controlled strength; with the warmth of your hands, one holding mine, one low on my back; with the feel of you shifting against me. We had danced before – at diplomatic events; never on _Voyager_ – but we had always been conscious of our audience. Tonight, it seemed, nobody was watching.  
  
It could have been three minutes or three hours later that Sidika appeared beside us, bearing a platter of fruit: pink, fleshy, with glossy black seeds that reminded me of a pomegranate. I glanced around and saw that we were almost alone on the dance floor. All around the pavilion people were clustered in small groups, eating the fruit.  
  
I looked at you: you were already scanning the _sidero_ with your tricorder. After several seconds you shrugged and slipped it back into your pocket.  
  
“Seems safe,” you told me, and you picked up a slice of fruit and bit into it. “And it’s delicious. Here.”  
  
You offered me a small slice. The juice spilled over your fingers, and if I tried to pluck it from your hand I’d probably make a mess. I bent forward, intending to close my lips around the fruit, and was stopped by your sharp, audible inhale.  
  
“Kathryn,” you said, part warning and part plea.  
  
I’d skirted too close to that invisible line we’d drawn years ago – or, rather, the line I had drawn and that you helped me not to cross. At least, not on a whim, or because we were alone together on a warm, bewitching night.  
  
I straightened up and took the fruit from your fingers, careful not to touch you. For a moment I hesitated: what if Ahlai’s prediction was true, and the _sidero_ somehow induced us to lower our carefully constructed barriers, step over that line?  
  
I didn’t really believe it, of course. The Unburdening was just a ritual, ingrained over centuries of symbolism and ceremonies. You and I had no history here, and we were scientists. There was little chance we’d be caught up in whatever collective behaviour the Suhari culture encouraged.  
  
Even so, I decided that one piece of _sidero_ was enough to satisfy custom. I thanked Sidika, watching her walk silently away, pretending I wasn’t avoiding looking at you.  
  
“Kathryn,” you said again, somehow managing to convey acceptance, amusement and regret just by saying my name. When I didn’t reply, you touched my hand lightly. “Feel like getting some air?”  
  
The sentiment was redundant, given we were standing in an open-sided structure, but I knew you were giving us the chance to back away and reset. So I nodded, and we moved as one toward the far side of the pavilion where the crowd was thinnest.  
  
The gardens sloped away sharply here, at the back of the pavilion. Before us, under the dark indigo sky, lay Mnimeio City: an array of vibrantly coloured buildings, dotted with lights.  
  
I rested a hand on the pillar and leaned out to feel the night breeze on my face.  
  
“Don’t stand too close to the edge,” you warned, and I couldn’t help sighing as I glanced at you over my shoulder.  
  
“Isn’t that the theme for the evening?”  
  
I could feel your surprise. Usually, when we strayed just a little too close, pushed the barriers a little too far, I was the one who pulled back, and my standard technique was avoidance.  
  
“You know I won’t let you fall,” you said eventually.  
  
We were used to speaking in allusion, but that was so cryptic I puzzled over it for a few moments. Were you saying you wouldn’t let me cross the line, or that you would keep me safe if I did?  
  
So much went unspoken between us. Tonight, something in me wanted to bring it into the open.  
  
“What would you do if I jumped?” I asked you.  
  
You were quiet for so long I turned to face you, and discovered I couldn’t read your expression.  
  
“Chakotay?”  
  
“Are we having the conversation I think we’re having?”  
  
I shrugged one shoulder. “This is the Unburdening Festival.”  
  
You gave me a penetrating stare. “Do you think the _sidero_ could be affecting you, Captain?”  
  
Stung, I turned my back to you again.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you ventured. “Kathryn, if you want to talk about this – about us – I’m all ears. I just don’t want you to regret it in the morning.”  
  
You laid a hand lightly on my shoulder, your thumb rubbing mesmerising circles on the tense muscles of my neck, and despite myself I sighed and let my chin dip forward to encourage your touch.  
  
You obeyed my silent signals, your strong fingers working up around the base of my skull and melting me so that I leaned into you. Your other hand rested on my hip to steady me. I found myself covering it with one of my hands, fitting my fingers between yours. Dragging our joined hands across my stomach, feeling the quickening of my heart and your breath. You bent to nuzzle lightly into my hair, and I tilted my head to the side in wordless invitation, anticipating your breath, your lips …

★

  
  
… tracing so lightly along the bared line of my neck, your breath warm on the dip between my neck and my shoulder …  
  
Between memory and reality, I was trembling, my breath gusting through parted lips. Your hand was spread on my hip, warm and steadying, and I twined my fingers into yours and tugged your palm flat and low across my abdomen. I wanted to wind back the clock, pretend the past few hours had never happened and that we were still standing on a balcony in the warm night air, poised on the edge of everything.  
  
Then you said, “This feels familiar … have I touched you like this before?”  
  
And I remembered that the sweet potential of hours ago had burned down to nothing.  
  
I slipped out of your grasp, smoothing out my expression before I faced you.  
  
There was a wrinkle between your brows. “Did I hurt you?” you asked. “I didn’t mean –”  
  
Your words faded into a gasp; you paled and swayed on your feet, and I hurried to support your weight, to help you to the cot. I eased you down and you hunched over, elbows on your knees, fingers splayed into your hair.  
  
“Does it hurt?” I asked, perching beside you. “Should I call someone?”  
  
“No,” you said faintly, “I’m just a little dizzy.”  
  
“I’ll get you some water.” I jumped up, only to be stopped by your hand on my wrist.  
  
“Stay,” you asked, looking up at me with eyes shadowed with pain you wouldn’t admit to.  
  
So I sank back down next to you, saying, “All right,” and laid my hand between your shoulder blades, rubbing your back gently until you straightened up and gave me a faint smile.  
  
“I’m fine,” you assured me. Your gaze dropped to my silver necklace, and you reached out a curious finger to touch the larger disc on the chain. “Earth,” you murmured.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It’s beautiful.” You searched my eyes. “It means a lot to you. A gift from someone important to you?”  
  
“Yes,” I husked. “Someone I have to learn to live without. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that…”  
  
“Don’t be sad. I promised you I’d always stay by your side,” you paused, frown deepening, “didn’t I?”  
  
“You did,” I rasped. “And you’ve always kept that promise.”  
  
“Did we make it?” For a moment I thought you were talking about the two of us, but you saw my confusion. “Home,” you clarified. “Did we make it home to Earth?”  
  
I shook my head, mute.  
  
You touched my jaw lightly. “We will, Kathryn,” you assured me.  
  
Then your eyes shuttered and you turned away, rubbing your temples, and I used the moment to push up from the bed so you wouldn’t read my reaction.  
  
I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time I stood by and watched you gradually lose your mind.  
  
Then, in chaotic space, I had to be the captain. The ship was at stake, and the Doctor had assured me your condition was temporary. Even so, manipulating you into ignoring your deepest fear – that you would lose your grip on reality – was a choice that had haunted my nightmares ever since.  
  
This time it wasn’t temporary, and I wasn’t the captain. I was your closest friend, whatever the unspoken possibilities that had once lain before us, and all I wanted was a miracle.  
  
“Kathryn?”  
  
I turned from the window. You’d raised your head from your hands, and your expression was bleak.  
  
“What is it?” I hurried over to crouch beside you, taking your hands in mine.  
  
“I don’t remember ...” You swallowed. “How did we get here?”

★

  
  
What might have happened on that balcony, if we hadn't been interrupted by the chirp of my combadge?  
  
If you’d kissed me, if I’d melted into you; if we’d allowed ourselves to be caught up in what we both desired, might everything have gone differently? How might the night have ended in another, kinder life?  
  
In this life, it was pointless to speculate. Tuvok commed me with a banal report on ship’s status, and when I closed the channel I turned to you, and whatever you read on my face made you step back from me, muttering that you needed a moment and hastening away through the pavilion. By the time I unglued my feet from the floor and went after you, you had disappeared.  
  
You didn’t return for over an hour.  
  
“Where have you been?” I whispered when you slinked up to attach yourself to the group of Suhari ministers I was politely pretending to listen to.  
  
You looked ruffled and a little dazed. “I went to the temple,” you murmured. “I needed to meditate.”  
  
Throwing diplomacy to the wind, I grabbed your elbow and pulled you away from the politicians. “Are you all right, Chakotay?”  
  
You nodded, then gave a brief shake of your head. “I’m a bit disoriented,” you admitted. “Maybe the temple wasn’t such a good idea.”  
  
“What happened in there?”  
  
“I had to clear my head.” You frowned, fingers straying to your forehead. “The novitiates were in there, sitting in front of the altar in pairs, each with a hand on the other’s head. An elder was there. She called it the _daeva_ rite –”  
  
You paused, leaning a hand against a pillar.  
  
“I tried to meditate, but … The next thing I remember is sitting on the floor with Sidika’s hand on my head. I think I entered a trance.”  
  
“You _think_ you did?”  
  
“I can’t be sure. I don’t remember –”  
  
“Commander Chakotay.” Minister Ahlai glided up beside us. “I’m glad your captain found you.”  
  
I hadn’t told Ahlai I was looking for you, but I wasn’t surprised that she’d figured it out. “He went to the temple to meditate with the novitiates,” I told her.  
  
Ahlai nodded in approval. “I guessed you were a spiritual man.”  
  
“They put Commander Chakotay into some kind of group trance,” I forged on. “The diva ritual. What can you tell us about it?”  
  
“The _daeva_ rite,” Ahlai corrected. “You commander is fortunate – not many off-worlders have the opportunity to participate in it.”  
  
“He says …” I caught myself, pressing my lips together. “What happens during the _daeva_ rite? What’s its purpose?”  
  
“After taking part in the Unburdening, citizens sometimes experience residual emotions, or even new ones if during the ritual they have discovered truths they find disquieting. The _daeva_ rite offers the chance to restore their equilibrium and prepare for the year to come, armed with their new knowledge.”  
  
“Do your citizens usually have no memory of the rite?”  
  
For the first time since we’d met, Ahlai’s smooth forehead creased in a frown. Instead of answering me, she turned her attention to you. “You remember nothing at all, Commander?”  
  
You shook your head and your voice sounded strained. “I remember watching the novitiates meditating and asking an elder about it. And I remember Sidika guiding me to join them, but after that … nothing. Not until I was walking up to Kath- the captain just now.”  
  
“Minister.” My voice cooled several degrees. “If Commander Chakotay has been injured by taking part in a rite you didn’t warn us about, I need to know right now.”  
  
Ahlai’s eyes assessed me thoroughly, then fixed on you. “Both of you should come with me,” she decided.  
  
“Where are we going?”  
  
“To see the temple elders.”  
  
Your eyes met mine as the minister began to stride in the direction you’d come from. You looked feverish, bewildered, and I felt apprehension trickle down my spine. “Whatever is going on, we’ll get to the bottom of it,” I assured you, and you mustered a smile and a nod as we moved off after Ahlai.  
  
As we climbed the steps into the temple, you stumbled, barely catching yourself on a pillar. Alarmed, I took your arm and helped you up the stairs. By the light of a lantern just inside the temple doors I scrutinised your face.  
  
Your skin was waxy; sweat beaded on your forehead and your breathing seemed fast and shallow. My anxiety ratcheted up a few notches.  
  
Ahlai appeared at your other side, taking your arm. “We need to get him to the elders.”  
  
“No, I don’t think so.” I glared at her and tapped my combadge. “Janeway to _Voyager_.”  
  
~Tuvok here,~ came the blessed response.  
  
“Tuvok, I need a location on the Doctor. Is he still on Suha?”  
  
~Affirmative.~  
  
“Please have him beamed to my coordinates immediately. Commander Chakotay needs medical treatment.”  
  
~Acknowledged, Captain.~  
  
Tuvok closed the channel, and I returned my attention to Ahlai. “We need a private space where our ship’s doctor can examine Chakotay.”  
  
“Medicine won’t help your commander.” Her voice was firm, but tinged with regret.  
  
A chill crawled over the back of my neck at her words.  
  
“If you don’t mind,” I ground out, “I’ll let the Doctor be the judge of that.”  
  
Ahlai inclined her head, keeping hold of your arm as she led us purposefully through the temple’s antechamber and through a series of stone corridors until we reached a rough wooden door, crisscrossed with iron and bolted shut.  
  
Everything inside me went to red alert, and I halted abruptly, my arm tightening around your waist. “What is this place?”  
  
Ahlai hesitated briefly. “It’s the place where you wait.”  
  
I had the sense she was choosing her words very carefully. She unlocked the door and swung it inward, and after a moment I helped you inside.  
  
The room was plain with whitewashed walls, one with a cot bed against it, a table and two high-backed chairs. A mullioned window looked out onto the stars in the purple night sky. We could almost have been in an old convent on Earth, I thought, but was immediately distracted by your soft groan as you swayed against me. Staggering under your weight, I manhandled you to the cot and you slumped onto it with relief, tipping your head back against the wall. Your face was sallow and pinched.  
  
“Captain, Commander.”  
  
We looked up; Ahlai stood in the doorway, and her expression made my stomach clench.  
  
“None of us could predict this would happen to you,” she said quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”  
  
Then she stepped into the corridor, pulling the door closed, and I heard the heavy bolt slide into the latch.

★

  
  
I went over to the table and poured out two glasses of water, stalling for time.  
  
“Kathryn.” You pushed up to your feet, steadying yourself against the wall. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. Just tell me what we’re doing in this room.”  
  
I handed you a glass, sipping from my own as I tried to decide what to tell you.  
  
“Something happened to you,” I began, “something that’s changing you. This is where we have to stay until it’s over.”  
  
“Over?” You watched me warily. “Am I sick? Will I get better?”  
  
How could I answer that?  
  
“Kathryn, please. Tell me the truth.”  
  
“You’re not sick,” I husked, “not exactly. But you’re not going to get better.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
I swallowed. “What do you remember before this moment?” When you stared blankly at me, I tried again. “Do you remember where you live?”  
  
“_Voyager_. I’m your first officer,” you answered immediately, then, “Why aren’t we on board?”  
  
“Because we took shore leave,” I explained, “on Suha. Do you remember the Lethia Festival?”  
  
Your lips curved upward. “I remember dancing with you.”  
  
“Yes. And then you went to the temple to meditate, and something happened to you there. Something the Doctor can’t explain or cure.”  
  
“So what does that mean?”  
  
It meant you were going to forget everything you were and everyone you loved, and that your deepest-held fears were going to become reality.  
  
How could I tell you that?  
  
In the end, I didn’t need to. You read it on my face; I saw it in the way your eyes changed.  
  
“Crazy old man,” you said softly. “I’ve always known that was my fate.”  
  
I wrapped your hand in both of mine and bent to press my lips to your knuckles. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I know how much that frightens you … I wish I could save you.”  
  
“I’m not afraid, Kathryn.” You cupped my cheek with your free hand. “As long as you stay with me.”  
  
I closed my eyes to hold in the tears. “I’m here,” I promised. “And I won’t leave you.”

★

  
  
“Minister!” I pounded my fist. “Unlock this door!”  
  
You watched me wearily from the cot as I prowled the room, tried to unlatch the window, snatched up your tricorder and scanned the vicinity.  
  
“Someone’s coming.” The tricorder had picked up three lifesigns approaching the other side of the door, all Suhari. I glanced around for a weapon, but there was nothing, unless I planned to throw a chair at them. I took up a protective position in front of you instead.  
  
The door opened and Minister Ahlai stepped in, followed by an older woman in scarlet robes, her face decorated in the same white swirls the novitiates wore. Ahlai pushed the door shut behind them and I heard the bolt scrape into its housing.  
  
“I’m Captain Janeway –”  
  
“I know,” the old woman said, not unkindly. “I’m sure this must be very confusing, Captain. If you’ll sit down, I will try to explain what has happened to your _sevgili_.”  
  
“My what?”  
  
“Please, Captain,” Ahlai entreated me. “The elder won’t hurt you or your commander.”  
  
I sat reluctantly. “You said you’d explain,” I addressed the woman in red. “I suggest you do it quickly.”  
  
She pulled up a high-backed chair and turned dark-green eyes on you. “My name is Atmina,” she said. “How are you feeling, Commander?”  
  
“I’ve been better.”  
  
“The dizziness will pass,” she assured you. “And I can help with your headache if you’ll allow me.”  
  
She lifted her hands, clearly intending to place them on your head.  
  
“Don’t touch him,” I said harshly. “I want my ship’s doctor to examine him immediately. He should be here by now. Please bring him in.”  
  
Atmina glanced at Minister Ahlai, who nodded and rapped on the door. It opened just enough to let her through the gap and to offer me a glimpse of the guard posted on the other side: a white-robed novitiate.  
  
The sound of the bolt sliding home set my teeth on edge.  
  
“There’s no point locking us in this room,” I said to Atmina. “One tap of my combadge and my chief of security will beam us both out of here.”  
  
“I’m sure he would,” the elder conceded. “But it’s imperative that you remain here until dawn. I assure you we’ll make you both comfortable while you wait.”  
  
“Wait for what?”  
  
“The _ritausma lithi_. Please, Captain,” Atmina held up a hand as I started to speak, “I will tell you what you need to know, but you must be patient.”  
  
The scrape of the door interrupted her. Minister Ahlai had returned, bringing the EMH with her. My relief at his entrance caused him alarm.  
  
“Captain, are you hurt?” He hurried over, medical tricorder already out and scanning me.  
  
“No. It’s Chakotay. He joined in some kind of communal meditation and came back complaining of dizziness, and he seems to be having trouble with his memory.”  
  
“It’s the _lithi_,” Atmina spoke up from behind us.  
  
“And what might that be?” The Doctor’s tone was tart. I watched his frown deepening as he waved the scanning wand over your head.  
  
“We consider it a divine mystery,” the elder answered. “But you would most likely call it a medical anomaly.”  
  
“I’m detecting traces of a toxin in your upper digestive tract,” the Doctor muttered, “but not in quantities that should be causing you any pain or nausea, Commander. What have you eaten this evening?”  
  
“The _sidero_,” I blurted. “That fruit. It did something to him, didn’t it? To us both,” I trailed off, remembering my uncharacteristic willingness to open topics I usually kept tightly sealed. But I wasn’t faint or disoriented, and I certainly hadn’t lost any memories.  
  
“The _sidero_ is part of it,” said Atmina. “The meditative trance is, also. But the key is in your _sevgili_’s genetic code.”  
  
“_Sevgili_?” I repeated, then in unison with the Doctor, “What do you mean, his genetic code?”  
  
“Tell me, Doctor,” Atmina addressed him, “does the commander have a family history of neurological disorders? Have any of his ancestors suffered from delirium, hallucinations or dementia?”  
  
The Doctor stopped scanning you and turned to glare at the elder. “I don’t make it a habit to divulge my patients’ medical information.”  
  
Atmina held up a hand. “In that case, I suggest you try a microcellular scan. You’ll find that the aberrant gene in his hippocampus has been reactivated.”  
  
“Impossible,” the Doctor scowled. “I neutralised that gene three months ago and disrupted the nucleotide sequences. There should be no way to reactivate the genetic bonds.”  
  
“Nonetheless, you’ll find that the molecular bonds are in the process of reforming. The process is rapidly degrading the commander’s synaptic pathways, causing sensory aphasia and accelerated global amnesia. In a few hours’ time his cognitive functions will be irrevocably altered.”  
  
“How can this happen?” The EMH was aghast.  
  
“More to the point,” I grated, “how do we reverse it?”  
  
Atmina’s expression was sympathetic. “You don’t understand, Captain. There is no reversing this condition.”  
  
“Doctor?” I snapped.  
  
The EMH looked up from his tricorder readings, his eyes distressed. “Captain, I don’t understand how this happened, let alone how to cure it. The synaptic pathways are degrading at an astonishing rate. Maybe if I had weeks and the best scientific minds of the Alpha quadrant at my disposal, I could find a treatment. But by all rights, Chakotay’s condition is impossible.”  
  
“No.” I turned my back on him, moving swiftly to your cot. “We have to get you to _Voyager_, Chakotay,” I softened my voice. “Can you stand?”  
  
“Wait,” you rasped. “What’s going to happen to me?”  
  
“When the _ritausma lithi_ has run its course, you will still be able to function, perhaps for years,” Atmina replied gently. “You’ll retain your ability to understand language, your muscle memory, your skillset. But you will have no memory of your circumstances, your personal connections, or your identity, and your short-term memory will be severely impacted. In time, you will be unable to form new long-term memories and you will increasingly suffer from hallucinations, delirium and paranoia. It’s likely that you will eventually pose a risk to your own safety, and you’ll have to be confined.”  
  
My knees wavered and I sat down hard on the cot beside you. I could feel my breath, knotted in my chest like a solid thing, agonising and sharp.  
  
“I see,” you said. Your voice was steady, but I knew you were afraid. I felt for your hand and grasped it tightly.  
  
“We’re getting out of here.”  
  
“Captain,” said Atmina, “I’m sorry, but you can’t leave.”  
  
“Try and stop me.”  
  
“Kathryn,” you murmured, then to Atmina, “Why can’t I leave?”  
  
“Not just you, Commander. The captain, too.”  
  
For the first time your voice grew shaky. “Is this going to happen to her, too?”  
  
“No,” assured Atmina. “But the _ritausma lithi_ must be honoured.”  
  
“You said that before – _ritausma lithi_. What does it mean?”  
  
“The dawning of oblivion,” Atmina said. “It only happens in the rarest of circumstances, and only to those with your genetic affliction, Commander. We don’t know why it happens, but our custom demands we respect it.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Those blessed by the _daeva_ rite spend their final knowing hours here in the temple, tended by their _sevgili_. The wise ones use the time to bare the truth of their souls. And, although only one of them will remember, they will be bonded until death. The _lithi_ brings sorrow, but we Suhari believe –”  
  
“Forgive my bluntness,” I interrupted, “but we aren’t Suhari.”  
  
Atmina’s expression chilled. “Is it your custom to ignore the spiritual traditions of other races, Captain?”  
  
I fell silent, but you squeezed my hand and said, “No, it isn’t. And we don’t intend to ignore yours.”  
  
“Chakotay, no!” I rounded on you. “I won’t let this happen to you. Not this …”  
  
My voice cracked, and you lifted your hand to my face; your touch was so tender that my fragile composure almost dissolved entirely. As one, the Doctor, Atmina and Minister Ahlai withdrew politely to the other side of the room.  
  
“I can’t let this happen,” I insisted through the ache in my throat.  
  
“We don’t have a choice.”  
  
“The Doctor –”  
  
“Can’t fix this. And I won’t spend my last hours in sickbay when I could be with you.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered.  
  
“Then go,” you said gently. “I won’t make you stay.”  
  
“No. I’m not leaving without you.”  
  
You hesitated. “When this is over, that’s exactly what I want you to do. Go back to _Voyager_, set a course for home and leave me behind.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
“Didn’t you hear Atmina? She said we’d be bonded until death.”  
  
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” you insisted. “Promise me.”  
  
“_No_. Never.” I pulled my hands away from yours and stood. “Don’t ask me again.”  
  
You nodded assent, and I turned to the trio on the other side of the room.  
  
“All right, Atmina. What do we do now?”  
  
The elder glided over to us. “This is your chance to say all the things you’ve left unsaid and do all the things you’ve always longed to do.”  
  
I glared at her, but Atmina only smiled.  
  
“He is your _sevgili_,” she reminded me, and although the universal translator failed to decipher the word’s meaning, I felt sure I could interpret its spirit. “Make the most of this time.”  
  
I felt your presence at my back and your fingers enclosing mine. You said, “We’re ready.”  
  
Atmina turned for the door, gesturing to Ahlai and the Doctor. The latter stopped beside us. “Your orders, Captain?” His tone was infinitely kind.  
  
“Inform Commander Tuvok of the situation,” I said. “Chakotay, is there anyone you want to say goodb-" I caught myself – “to speak to?”  
  
You shook your head. “I have some pre-recorded messages in my personal database. If you could see that they’re delivered after …”  
  
I nodded briskly, not trusting myself to speak.  
  
The Doctor clasped your hand briefly. “It’s been an honour, Commander.”  
  
He moved toward the door, and before it closed behind him I caught sight of the novitiate who was guarding it. I was unsurprised to recognise Sidika. Her face, so serene each time I’d seen it previously, was pinched with unhappiness.  
  
But I had no time for her distress, not when a lifetime of grief and misery lay ahead of me.  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
I felt your hand on my shoulder and turned to look at you. It hurt to breathe.  
  
You tipped your forehead to mine, and I closed my eyes and pretended it was hours ago, when I was still dancing in your arms. When time was just a series of moments, each sweeter than the last, and not this swift and silent march toward the end.

★

_How should it end? You choose ..._

Ending One - Bitter | Ending Two - Bittersweet | Ending Three - Sweet

_**Ending One – Bitter: That which is true will be forgotten** _  
  
**Warning**: Major character death

★

  
  
“Talk to me.”  
  
I felt as though I’d been talking for days; my throat was scratchy and sore, my eyes burning. Outside, the violet-black sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn would come soon, and with it, oblivion.  
  
I looked at you, searching your eyes for the light, the softness I’d always seen in their depths: the expression you had just for me. Like your memory, it was fading.  
  
We were almost out of time, and I was still lying to myself, pretending there would be a last-minute reprieve. A miracle.  
  
But I never did believe in miracles.  
  
“I remember the first time I saw you.”  
  
Your forehead furrowed, then smoothed. “Through the viewscreen. I was on the _Val Jean_, and you called me by my Starfleet rank.”  
  
“That might have been the first time you saw me.” I smiled at the memory. “But I saw you years before then. It was at Starfleet Headquarters. I had just been debriefed after a six month mission and there was nowhere I had to be, and I was taking my time wandering through the gardens with the sun at my back.”  
  
The words began to stumble and trip on my tongue.  
  
“And then this broad-shouldered lieutenant commander stormed out of the tactical building and collided with me. Knocked me right into one of Boothby’s rose bushes, stopped to haul me to my feet, brushed me down and kept right on walking without so much as an apology.”  
  
I didn’t expect you to remember, but your eyes widened in recognition. “That was you?” You shook your head. “That was the day I resigned. I shipped out to the DMZ the next morning.”  
  
“Where you eventually became the fearsome Maquis captain I was sent to bring to justice.” My smile faded. “I couldn’t believe it when Admiral Paris gave me your file. I had spent the previous two years looking for you around every corner, wondering why you’d been so angry that day. Wondering if I’d ever see you again.”  
  
Your eyes softened. “And you always say you don’t believe in fate.”  
  
“I’ve believed we were fated for a long time now,” I choked out. “I should have told you …”  
  
There was so much I should have told you, so much space between us, and still I couldn’t find the courage to form the words. Instead, with a desperate, frustrated growl, I hooked my hand around the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss.  
  
You made an astonished sound that deepened almost immediately into a groan, and brought your hands up to cradle my face. I could feel you trembling. My head grew light; I needed air, but I found myself pressing even closer. Kissing you was more important than breathing.  
  
Deliberately, you lightened the kiss, brushing my parted lips with yours, easing back further when I nudged at you impatiently. Eventually I reached up to wind my fingers into your hair, holding you steady while I bit lightly at your lower lip and soothed it with my tongue. It fractured your control. Your fingers stroked along my spine, mapped the span of my waist, wrapped around my hip as you brought our bodies into full, thrilling contact. We turned together, smoothly, almost like dancing, across the room until we sank onto the cot.  
  
There was no hesitation, no prudence. I didn’t care that Sidika was just outside our door. There was only you and me, and our first and last chance to be together.  
  
I lost track of time; all I knew was that the hours passed like minutes and when we finally lay still, my head on your chest and your arms around me, the lamplight in the room had dimmed and the sky outside our window was streaked with yellow and rose. I didn’t know how literally I was supposed to take Atmina’s prophesy that your memory would be gone by dawn. But I wasn’t willing to take the chance; not when there were things I had to say.  
  
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” I began. My voice was shaking, and I took in a deep breath, steadying myself to continue. “I couldn’t have survived the past five years without you. I wish I hadn't taken that for granted … I wish I’d let you know what you mean to me. I know it’s too little, too late, but I want you to know, now, before it’s too late, Chakotay. I love you,” I told you, my voice cracking on the last syllable, “I have always loved you. And I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”  
  
You stroked my hair, gently, a little clumsily, and shushed me. When I propped myself on one elbow to look at you, tugging the sheet to cover myself, you gave me your gentle smile. But your eyes were clouded.  
  
“Chakotay?” I asked, fear clutching my insides.  
  
Your smile turned troubled and a crinkle appeared between your eyebrows.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you said, “but I don’t know who you are.”

★

  
  
The Doctor never gave up on trying to cure you. And, eventually, he did find a treatment that slowed the continued degradation of your neural pathways. But the damage, as Atmina predicted, was irreversible.  
  
You spent the first few days back on _Voyager_ acquainting yourself with the man you used to be, and after you’d read all your logs you came to my ready room and asked to be given a purpose on the crew.  
  
I assigned you to Engineering, hoping that time spent with B’Elanna might rebuild those broken connections, but after a week B’Elanna came to me, wringing her hands, asking that I find you another post. Your engineering skills, she said, were still competent, but your flawed memory had already caused several near-accidents: you left power conduits unsealed, relays uncoupled, and once you had wandered away during a critical stage of a warp core diagnostic. She was afraid another such incident could be fatal.  
  
For a while you took on the role of ship’s counsellor. It seemed a natural fit: your personality, though devoid of the quirks and rich complexities your forgotten experiences had once lent it, remained open and reassuring, and your interest in other people was genuine. For a while you were content, and I … I was able to avoid you. It was a situation that suited us both.  
  
Soon, though, the burden of daily re-learning other people’s problems, on a ship where shared history was crucial to understanding one another, became too much for you, and you began to shun your scheduled appointments. The first time, I found you in the observation lounge, facing out through a viewport, your body language demanding solitude. I ignored your signals and tried to talk to you, and you told me that you liked it there because the stars were different every day, and nobody minded. You said the stars didn’t judge.  
  
I tried to tell you that none of us judged you, and you smiled at me without humour and said that I was the worst of all. That you couldn’t stand to be near me because I looked at you with hope that could never be realised and expectations you could never fulfil. That you didn’t even know me, but you knew you had broken my heart.  
  
I stopped looking for you after that.  
  
After a while, whenever you went missing, Seven of Nine would message the bridge to inform me that you were in Astrometrics, standing on the platform, gazing up at the display of our course through the quadrant.  
  
You became close, you and Seven, spending hours together, she at her work, you in silent contemplation of the stars. I would see the two of you sometimes, in the mess hall together, in the holodeck. It made sense, I suppose; you had something profound in common. Both of you had to forge a new life with a new identity. The difference between you was that you had to relearn who you were almost every day.  
  
Seven was unendingly patient with you. Maybe her constant presence in your life helped you to form a familiarity with her that lasted beyond the span of your truncated memory; maybe you simply responded to the feelings she developed for you. Maybe it was enough for both of you, that you could make each other happy.  
  
It hurt, but there was nothing I could do to change it. So when you came to me in the eighth year of our journey – you and Seven, hand in hand, standing before my ready room desk – and requested permission to marry, I granted it.  
  
The Doctor had developed his treatment, and for a year or two you seemed to be improving. You forged new friendships with some of the crew. You took over maintenance of the airponics bay. I heard that you and Seven were talking about children.  
  
Then the two of you took shore leave together, hiking the mountain trails on a nameless planet. There was an accident, and Seven was fatally injured.  
  
Nobody ever so much as implied that your diminished faculties had caused it, but you believed it was your fault. You withdrew, refused the Doctor’s treatment, wouldn’t leave your quarters.  
  
The crew who checked in on you reported that your memory was failing, that you were experiencing hallucinations and periods of near-catatonia. When the Doctor was finally able to examine you, he came to me with a warning that you were deliberately hastening the _lithi_’s progression, and that you would be unable to live alone within the year unless somebody stepped in.  
  
I began to spend all my off-hours with you.  
  
Most of the time, you’d ignore me, staring through your viewport as though you could memorise the constellations. Sometimes you’d shout at me, demand to know who I was and why I was keeping you prisoner. Sometimes we’d sit in silence, you reading, me catching up on reports.  
  
Sometimes, increasingly rarely, we’d talk. You would ask me why you were on a ship, what was your purpose, what we were to each other, and I would answer you with the truth I had always shied away from. The truth I wished I’d told you before it was too late.  
  
Sometimes I would catch you looking at me, your expression speculative and faintly sad, as if you were half-remembering what we once had been to each other. Sometimes, when I wore clothing that bared the earth-and-moon necklace you’d given me, that I hid every day under my uniform, your gaze would fix on it and your hand lift as if to touch it. But your face would always clear and your eyes slide away, dismissing the unwanted prickle of your memory.  
  
You deteriorated more quickly the closer we drew to home. Gradually, your grip on reality grew weaker, and you spent as much time talking to imaginary people as you did to those of flesh-and-blood. By the time _Voyager_ limped into the Alpha quadrant, twenty-three years after our journey started, the majority of our interactions involved you accusing me of torturing you and begging me to let you die.  
  
There were times I almost gave in. I was half out of my own mind by then, and if it had taken us much longer to reach Earth, I might have ended your misery and then my own.  
  
We came home to a hero’s welcome, and it meant nothing. You were taken to Starfleet Medical. I used my newfound celebrity status to secure an apartment less than a block’s walk from your ward. And every day for the next ten years, until your death rendered my existence purposeless, I walked that short distance to visit you, my _sevgili_, and wished we were seventy-five thousand light years away.

★

_Hated it, or want to see how a different ending would play out?_

Ending Two - Bittersweet | Ending Three - Sweet

_**Ending Two – Bittersweet: That which is hidden will be disclosed** _

★

There was so much I wanted to say to you, but I hesitated. Irrationally, I thought that if I started telling you everything that was in my heart, the end would come more quickly.  
  
We stood in the middle of that room with your head bowed to mine and your arms around me, breathing each other’s air, and gradually, a sense of peace crept over me. I knew I was about to lose you, and I knew I would never be the same, but for the first time in my life I understood how you were able to accept the whims of fate with such grace. Maybe you’d rubbed off on me; all those years of patient wisdom and parables.  
  
The thought made me smile.  
  
You sensed it and lifted a hand to cup my face, and I leaned into your palm, my mouth grazing your wrist. The gentle pressure of your fingertips tilted my chin up. I waited, lips parted, as you drew closer.  
  
There came the rough scrape of a bolt sliding back, and Sidika slipped through the door, closing it quickly behind her. The intricate designs had smeared on her forehead and cheeks and her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying, but determined.  
  
“Elder Atmina implied that there was no cure for the _ritausma lithi_,” she said without preamble. “That isn’t true.”  
  
“Sidika, wait a minute.” You released me and took a step toward the novitiate. “If I understood your mother correctly, breaking your oath of silence would mean the end of your training at the temple. Whatever you have to say, it isn’t worth that.”  
  
I opened my mouth to contradict you, but Sidika beat me to it.  
  
“Yes, it is, Commander Chakotay. How can I dedicate myself to serving justice when what is happening now is so unjust? You’ve been lied to, and I won’t stand by and allow that to happen.” She swallowed visibly. “And this is all my fault.”  
  
I moved quickly to your side before you could object further. “Sidika, I think you’d better explain. Is there a cure for the commander’s condition?”  
  
The young girl took in a short breath and nodded quickly. “There is a way to reverse the degradation of the commander’s synaptic pathways. I can administer the _timiot_, but we must hurry.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” you held up a hand. “The _timiot_?”  
  
“_Reverse_ the damage?” I asked. “Not just halt it?”  
  
“Yes. But immediately,” Sidika urged. “There isn’t much time, and the elders –” She broke off, biting her lip.  
  
“The elders … what?” you asked gently.  
  
“If they realise my intention they’ll try to stop me,” she said in a rush.  
  
“Because it’s forbidden,” you deduced, and folded your arms. “Sidika, I appreciate your offer, but I won’t accept it.”  
  
“The hell you won’t,” burst out of me, and I had to grit my teeth to regain control of my fluttering, hopeful heart. Turning back to Sidika, I demanded, “What does the _timiot_ involve?”  
  
Her composure had almost completely deserted her; she paced across the floor, darting anxious glances at the door, as if she expected it to open at any moment. “Are you familiar with perceptual transference? The merging of minds?”  
  
“Are you referring to telepathy?”  
  
“Yes. The _lithi_ can only be cured through forging a telepathic link with Commander Chakotay.”  
  
“How can that alter his genetic sequence?”  
  
“I can’t explain it,” she said simply. “You will have to take it on faith, Captain.”  
  
I met your eyes for a long moment, then said to Sidika, “Proceed.”  
  
“Wait,” you protested. “Captain, the prime directive –”  
  
“Can go to hell.”  
  
“You don’t mean that,” you said softly. “And you haven’t asked if there’s any danger to Sidika.”  
  
I swallowed: you were right. “Is there?” I asked the girl.  
  
“None that I’m unwilling to risk.” She turned her gaze on you. “Please, Commander. No matter what you decide, I’m renouncing the temple tonight. Let me help you.”  
  
“Chakotay,” I echoed her plea.  
  
You gave a short, assenting nod, and the breath rushed out of me.  
  
Sidika sat beside you on the cot and placed her hands on your head, and you inhaled sharply and went completely still. Your eyes were open but your sight was plainly turned inward.  
  
I didn’t dare speak. Couldn’t, through the thickening in my throat. I stood with my fingers clasped and whitening, pressed to my mouth.  
  
I stood, immobile, until the door scraped open, making me jump.  
  
Minister Ahlai pushed into the room ahead of Atmina and several others I deduced were temple elders. Ahlai took in the tableau on the cot and turned on me.  
  
“You have disrespected our sacred customs, and because of you my daughter has renounced her calling.” Her voice shook. “If I could break their mind-bond without causing both Sidika and Commander Chakotay to be permanently brain-damaged, I would do it immediately. As it is, you’re no longer welcome on Suha. Contact your ship and have every last member of your crew transported aboard. As soon as the _timiot_ is complete, you and your commander will join them and you will set a course out of this system at maximum speed.”  
  
I compressed my lips to hold back the words I wanted to scour her with. “Understood.”  
  
There was a soft groan from the cot, and my attention snapped back in time to watch Sidika turn pale and sway, her hands falling away from your temples. Her mother rushed to support her.  
  
“Chakotay?”  
  
You blinked. I watched you coming back into focus and I stepped forward, my eyes asking the questions I couldn’t form.  
  
You stood, steady on your feet, and smiled at me, and it was _your_ smile. The smile that sometimes makes me blush, or hide, or blink away tears.  
  
Relief rushed through me, so overwhelming that I was right there in front of you before I knew my feet had moved. I reached for you and you caught my hand in yours; our fingers tangled and I was poised on my toes to complete the embrace when you stopped me with a murmured, “Not here.”  
  
I nodded, remembering our audience, and you turned to Sidika and Ahlai.  
  
“Is she all right?”  
  
“I’m fine.” Sidika smiled up at you as the colour came back to her face.  
  
“You were my most promising student in years,” Atmina told her, stepping forward. “But our laws are inflexible on this matter. You will no longer be welcome in this temple, or any other, for the remainder of your life.”  
  
Sidika let her gaze pan across the gathered elders and come to rest on her mother. Pushing up to her feet, she shrugged the white robe from her shoulders and let it drop.  
  
“I did this of my own will, knowing the consequences,” she announced in a clear voice. She leaned up to kiss her mother’s cheek, then strode for the door without another word. The elders parted to allow her through.  
  
“What’s going to happen to her?” you asked.  
  
Ahlai’s face was set. “That’s none of your concern. And it’s time you left.”  
  
She about-faced, marching out of the room with her chin high. The elders followed.  
  
We were alone.  
  
I could feel your eyes on me, and I found, suddenly, that I couldn’t look at you.  
  
“Kathryn –”  
  
“We should get back to the ship,” I blurted.  
  
I tapped my combadge, but before I could speak, you touched my hand. “May I?” At my nod, you hailed, “Chakotay to Tuvok.”  
  
~Commander,~ came the reply, coloured faintly with Vulcan surprise. ~What is your status?~  
  
“Could you patch me through on ship-wide?”  
  
There was a brief click, then Tuvok’s reply. ~You are addressing all hands, Commander.~  
  
You felt for my hand. I wasn’t sure you were aware you were doing it, but my gaze was riveted to our linked fingers, to the way your thumb stroked gently across my knuckles.  
  
“This is Commander Chakotay,” you said. “I’m sure you’ve all heard that I wasn’t supposed to return from Suha the same person. Thanks to the kindness of a temple novitiate, my condition has been reversed. I’m as good as new, and I remember everything,” you paused, “including the crew evaluation schedule, so I expect Ensigns Bristow and Bronowski to report to my office at 0900 and 1400 respectively.”  
  
A cheer came through clearly over the comm line, and I watched your lips curve upward.  
  
~Commander,~ Tuvok said, ~I believe I speak for the crew in expressing my relief and gratitude at your recovery.~  
  
“Thanks, Tuvok,” you said. “You should know that the Suhari have asked us to leave orbit. We’ll transport up after you’ve beamed all remaining crew from the surface.”  
  
~I will contact you shortly. Tuvok out.~  
  
The channel closed and you turned to look at me. My hand was still in yours.  
  
“That was a good thing,” I approved, my eyes sliding away from yours. “Telling the whole crew at once.”  
  
“They deserved to know.” Your eyes remained steady on my face. “They’re a good crew.”  
  
“And they love you.”  
  
“I know,” you said, then, “Kathryn …”  
  
I pulled my hand from yours and stepped away from you. “Don’t,” I pleaded. “I can’t.”  
  
My fingers strayed to the necklace you’d given me, tracing the circles that represented home. My purpose, and my curse.  
  
All the calm certainty I’d felt before Sidika rushed into the room and announced she had a cure had deserted me. I was at war, and as much as I longed to wrap myself in your arms, to complete the kiss that had been interrupted twice tonight, I couldn’t allow it. Not with the voices of the crew echoing in my head.  
  
Maybe not ever.  
  
Squaring my shoulders, I turned back to tell you my decision, and was interrupted by the chirp of my combadge.  
  
~Tuvok to Captain Janeway. We are ready for transport.~  
  
I met your eyes and realised that I didn’t need to find the words to explain. You already knew.  
  
You smiled at me. With a brief touch to the Earth-coloured disc resting against my sternum, you mouthed, “Let’s go home.”  
  
“Janeway here, Tuvok,” I said aloud. “Two to beam up.”

★

_Didn't sign up for a canon-friendly ending? Try something different._

Ending One - Bitter | Ending Three - Sweet

_**Ending Three – Sweet: The beloved will find truth through courage** _

★

  
  
“Do you remember the first time we met?”  
  
“When you beamed onto my bridge, threatening grievous bodily harm?” Despite myself, I smiled. “I didn’t know whether you were going to shoot me or kiss me.”  
  
You chuckled. “Tell you the truth … I didn’t either.”  
  
“Sometimes,” I murmured, “I can’t work out how we got so lucky. To be stranded so far from home; enemies without, enemies within –”  
  
“No idea what was ahead of us, or if we’d survive the next day –”  
  
“And yet,” I lifted my face, “there you were.”  
  
You smiled.  
  
“Which, in itself, was a problem,” I pointed out. “I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the things you made me feel. If we’d been in the Alpha quadrant –”  
  
“We might never have met,” you finished. “Or if we did, we might have been exchanging phaser fire.”  
  
“Oh, we had our moments.” I smiled at you. “There were times I was tempted to shoot you.”  
  
“Let me guess,” you answered wryly. “You didn’t always appreciate me solving problems the Maquis way.”  
  
“You mean like running off after Seska?”  
  
You looked blank. “Who?”  
  
I glanced away to hide the fear that clutched my throat. “I suppose, if you have to forget anyone, she would be a good choice.”  
  
We fell silent. I was trying to pretend I wasn’t counting the hours we had left and wondering how wide the holes in your memory were growing. You; I didn’t know what you were thinking about. I tried to block out everything but the feel of your arms around me and your breath stirring my hair.  
  
After a while you pulled me closer, and I felt your lips touch my forehead.  
  
Hesitantly, you asked, “I don’t remember … how many times have we kissed?”  
  
“We haven’t – we’ve never …” I broke off, then raised my face. “This is the first,” and I tiptoed up to brush your mouth with mine.  
  
Your lips parted – those full, luscious lips I’d fantasised about more often than I’d admit – and I tilted my head to slide my tongue along the lower one. You breathed a sigh; I felt your hands circling my waist, your thumbs rubbing slow and thrilling across my ribs, and my skin prickled with heat through the thin silk of my dress, everywhere you touched me.  
  
Slow and deep, my tongue sliding over yours, I nipped and sucked at your mouth. You started to tremble. Your fingers began to spread and wander, your breathing to quicken. I pressed myself into your stroking hands and felt you moan deep in your chest.  
  
You eased back from me a fraction; your eyes were black and your lips wet.  
  
“Definitely our first,” you said, rough-voiced. “That isn’t something I’d forget.”  
  
A flush of shyness made me duck my head, a helpless smile tugging at my lips. “Me neither.”  
  
You cupped my face, fingers drifting across my cheekbone and making my eyes close. Standing there like that, my hands over your heart, yours tenderly mapping the outline of my features and threading through my hair, I felt lulled and safe. Dawn was still hours away, and that moment, that night, was everything.  
  
Eventually you seemed to have your fill of brushing your fingertips across my forehead and cheek and jaw. Your hands came to rest lightly on my shoulders and you set me back from you a fraction.  
  
“There’s so much I think I should be saying to you,” you told me. “I know there’s a message I recorded for you … all the things I wanted to tell you while I was alive,” you paused, “or, I guess, while I was still me, but giving it to you doesn’t seem right.”  
  
“Then maybe you should tell me now. Whatever you want.” _Whatever you can remember_, I didn’t say.  
  
“Okay.” You thought for a moment, then grinned. “I love it when you’re in captain mode, the way you strut around the bridge snapping out orders. It’s incredibly sexy, and the best part is when you lean over the helm.”  
  
I leaned back in your arms, pretending outrage. “Commander, are you admitting to lascivious thoughts about your captain?”  
  
You laughed. “Kathryn, every member of our crew has entertained lascivious thoughts about you at one stage or another, especially …” you trailed off, a line appearing between your brows, “uh, the pilot. Lieutenant …”  
  
“Paris,” I supplied, feeling the edges of my smile slip. “Ensign Paris.”  
  
Your gaze slid from mine. “Right.”  
  
I felt anguish bubble up inside my chest, choking me and stinging my eyes, and I dipped my forehead to hide it. The position pressed my face against your throat. The tickle of my breath made you murmur, made your hands tighten on my shoulders.  
  
The moments ticked by as we stood quiet and immobile, until I began to feel the weight of passing time and the cost of my inaction. If tonight was all the time we had left, surely I’d be forgiven for giving into a few long reined-in impulses. Hadn't we earned a little indulgence?  
  
If not now, when?  
  
So I tilted my head to the side and parted my lips, feeling the throb of your pulse under my tongue.  
  
You gasped, jerking back as though I’d burned you; your hands fell to my hips and you clutched them to hold my lower body away from yours. I frowned up at you in surprise.  
  
It was your accelerated breathing and the way your tongue darted out to moisten your lips that clued me in.  
  
Suddenly I felt powerful, irresistible. I hooked a finger into your belt to tug you back into contact with me and gripped your chin with the other, turning your head firmly to one side. Ignoring the almost-bruising pressure of your fingers on my hips, I stretched up to scrape my teeth against your jugular.  
  
Your moan curled my toes and I answered it with one of my own. I pushed your collar aside to suck at your collarbone, slipped open a button on your shirt and traced the smooth expanse of skin with my tongue. I could feel you shaking with the effort of holding still.  
  
Leaning up to nip at your earlobe, I whispered, “Touch me.”  
  
You exhaled through your teeth. Your fingers loosened, and slowly, you shifted them upward. I felt your fingertips exploring each bump and curve of my ribcage, slithering over my silk dress. I shivered involuntarily, leaning into your touch, and you stopped.  
  
“Kiss me,” I demanded, and you bent to nuzzle at my cheekbone. Your lips followed the line of my jaw and I tipped my head back to expose my neck to you.  
  
My pulse was thundering. I wanted to see all of you, to taste you everywhere at once. I opened your next shirt button, and then another, until I could push the shirt from your shoulders and arch my body against your naked chest.  
  
Your mouth trailed softly along the line of my throat, I turned my face toward you, and as our lips met I breathed out a sigh. Heat bloomed and pulsed between us. Lacing my fingers into yours, I began to drag your hands upward, until our joined fingers moulded the lower curve of my breasts.  
  
You broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Kathryn …”  
  
“Mm?” I pressed closer, wanting to kiss you until we breathed each other’s air, but you held me still with a small shake of your head.  
  
“Maybe we should slow down.”  
  
“I don’t want to slow down.”  
  
You squeezed my hands. “I thought you had rules about this.”  
  
Of all the things that were fading from your memory, why couldn’t that be one of them?  
  
“Playing by the rules never got us anywhere.” I lowered my voice to a purr, pulling my hands free of yours so I could indulge my need to smooth them across your chest. “I want this. Do you?”  
  
What you wanted was scrawled across your face, but still you hesitated. “But you said we’ve never –”  
  
“I don’t care,” I cut you off. “Tonight is our last chance to …” I stopped, pressed my lips together. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”  
  
Before you could offer further protest, I leaned up and captured your lips again. This time I threaded my fingers into your hair to hold you to me, and – your objections apparently silenced – you spread your hands across my back, one sliding low to press my hips close.  
  
_At last._  
  
I hummed my approval and you cupped your hands under my thighs, lifting me until my feet left the ground and I took the hint, wrapping my legs around your hips. Immediately you started moving, your lips never leaving mine as you unerringly found the little ledge in front of the window. I rested my behind on it, locking you in place between my thighs.  
  
I squirmed against you just to feel you shudder and swell.  
  
You broke the kiss to chase the strap from my shoulder with your lips, and I began to shake. I reached behind my back to release the zipper on my dress, letting the bodice slither down to pool around my hips, and leaned back on one elbow. You braced an arm around my waist, bending to suck and lightly bite at my throat, my collarbones, and lower, and I arched my back, encouraging your attentions with a hand threaded through the hair at the back of your head.  
  
“Easy,” you murmured, following the command with a long, slow lick from the underside of my breast to the taut, begging tip. “We have all night.”  
  
As you began to learn the contours of my body with your hands and mouth, I gave myself up to wherever your impulses led you, sure in the prediction that this would be a night that one of us, at least, would never forget.

★

  
Warm pink fingers of light tickled my closed eyes, drawing me gently into wakefulness.  
  
Incrementally, I became aware of my body: the stretch and pleasant soreness of muscles, the sense of fulfilment, aching and heavy, in my lower belly. The warmth of a body pressed to my back, an arm across my hips. Soft, even breathing stirring the fine hair at the nape of my neck.  
  
My eyes blinked open, stinging in the light streaming through the window, gritty from lack of sleep.  
  
Easing myself out from under your restraining arm, I turned to look at you. You were stretched out, sprawled across the cot, grace and latent power evident in the long lines of your body. The sheet dipped low on your hips and I followed the V of your pelvis with greedy eyes before forcing my gaze away.  
  
Your face was smooth, as blank as the tabula rasa I knew you had become.  
  
I turned away. Snagging my crumpled dress from the floor, I tugged it over my tangled hair and half-zipped it carelessly, ignoring the twinges in parts of my body as I moved to stand at the window.  
  
The temple gardens spread out before me in a glorious array of colour and shade, but all of it blurred before my eyes. I was torn in half. I wished we’d never heard of Suha or the Lethia Festival. Wished I had never thrown off the captain’s shackles for a few moments with you, for the thrill of pretending that we were even possible. I was devastated at the cost of my recklessness, and heartbroken at the prospect of long years ahead without you at my side.  
  
And I was fiercely grateful for the one night we’d had.  
  
I had said it first, breathing _I love you_ against your lips as you held me steady in the electric moments immediately after we first joined. Like breaching a dam, my words had shattered your restraint; you’d answered me with a groan, surging into me, punctuating each powerful motion with an echo of my confession.  
  
Standing there at the window, the memory brought with it a flood of heat and a clench low in my belly. Soon, I’d have to decide how to handle the coming hours – days, _years_ – and be the captain again. But for a few moments more, I let myself get lost in replaying every kiss, every touch. I closed my eyes and focused on sensations: the silk of my dress, warm and supple, became your skin against mine; the tickle of my hair became your lips on my neck.  
  
Lost in this daydream, it took me a beat a two to realise that it wasn’t the warm morning air that caressed my shoulder, nor the sounds of the garden that murmured against my ear. The strap of my half-fastened dress could have slipped off my shoulder of its own accord, yes. But the warm lips tracing the side of my neck, the calloused palms cupping my hips – those were shockingly real.  
  
I stilled.  
  
“Chakotay?” I forced myself to whisper.  
  
The lips withdrew. The hands tugged at my hips, turning me, and there you stood, wearing nothing but your undershorts. And your smile.  
  
Your familiar, gentle, dimpled smile: the one that you reserved for those rare, precious moments when we were alone and in perfect accord.  
  
“Hi,” you said simply, “Kathryn.”  
  
My heart tripped. “You remember me?”  
  
Your smile became a grin. “I remember everything,” you answered, and then you kissed me.

★

  
The sound was quiet, but insistent enough to break through the cocoon of rapturous disbelief I found myself in. Forcing myself to pull free of your kiss, I stared at you until I recognised the sound as someone knocking at the door to our room.  
  
“Come,” I called without thinking.  
  
The door opened and Atmina glided through it, followed by Minister Ahlai and Sidika. All three stopped short when they saw us. All three broke out into wide, delighted smiles.  
  
“I see you followed my counsel,” Atmina addressed us, and when we stared at her blankly, she clarified, “To spend this time together truthfully, with no barriers between you.”  
  
Belatedly, I realised that you and I were standing crushed together and wrapped in each other’s arms, in a state of undress that made it glaringly obvious just how we’d passed the night hours. I blushed, tugged my fallen strap up over my shoulder and made to step away from you, only for you to utter a warning sound and clutch me even closer.  
  
The hard ridge pressing against my hip explained why.  
  
Wordlessly, Sidika fetched your pants and shirt and handed them to you with a faint smirk, and you shifted behind me to yank them on. Dressed, you moved to stand at my side, and our fingers meshed without thought or hesitation.  
  
Atmina’s smile widened as she looked from our joined hands to our faces. “How do you feel, Commander?”  
  
“Like myself,” you replied, “only …”  
  
You trailed off, and Atmina suggested: “Different?”  
  
“Better,” you amended. “I feel … renewed.”  
  
“And you, Captain?” She turned her dark green eyes on me.  
  
I took a moment to probe my own emotions, my physical state … I _did_ feel different. Energised, decisive, positive … _Happy_, I realised. That was the truth of it. For the first time in months – no, _years_ – I felt happy.  
  
But I wanted answers.  
  
“What happened to us?” I growled. “Why did Chakotay start losing his memory? Why did you make us believe it was permanent?”  
  
Atmina folded her hands. “Everything I told you was the truth.”  
  
“You said Chakotay would experience total memory loss by dawn,” I accused. “You said it was incurable.”  
  
“No,” said Atmina, “I said there was no reversing the condition. In fact, the cure was in your hands all along.”  
  
“What cure?” I ground out. “How was it in our hands?”  
  
“I told you that the _ritausma lithi_ must be honoured,” Atmina said patiently. “I counselled you to pass the night caring for your _sevgili_. To reveal your true feelings to one another. To act on your unspoken desires and accept what you had previously denied yourselves.” She smiled. “That is what you did.”  
  
I stared at her.  
  
Minister Ahlai spoke for the first time. “The elder spoke the truth. The _lithi_ happens very rarely, but we’ve been taught that only those who embrace the opportunity it offers can free themselves from its curse. Truth requires courage, and faith is rewarded with joy.”  
  
“I understand,” you said from beside me.  
  
I didn’t. “Minister, Elder, I apologise for my bluntness, but none of this is making any sense. How could anything we did last night have restored Chakotay’s memory?”  
  
Ahlai gave a rueful shrug. “As I told you, Captain, I cannot explain it. It just _is_. It’s not our custom to question it. Nor were we permitted to guide your path any more than we did. If we had simply told you what you had to do, the _lithi_ would have taken your _sevgili_ from you and you would have spent the rest of your life bonded to a man who no longer existed.”  
  
“Fortunately,” Atmina noted, “you chose the right path.”  
  
The room fell silent as I absorbed that. “Are you telling me that this was a _test_?” Anger coloured my voice.  
  
Atmina tilted her head. “Is that how you choose to see it, Captain?”  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
You squeezed my hand and I swung around to face you with the beginnings of a glare, which intensified at the twitch of your lips.  
  
“It’s not a test,” you said softly. “It’s a gift.”  
  
I drew breath to protest, but you smiled down at me, and I looked into your eyes and read all the things I’d feared I would never see there again: humour, familiarity, allegiance … love. And I thought about the long night we’d passed, and how I’d spent so much of it silently pleading for a miracle.  
  
And there you were. A gift, and a miracle.  
  
My anger dissipated like mist, and I returned the gentle pressure of your hand. “All right, _sevgili_,” I murmured. “I suppose I’ll take this one on faith.”  
  
Your smile widened as you leaned down to kiss me slowly, with delicacy. I was peripherally aware of the three Suhari quietly leaving the room and of Sidika’s pleased grin as she carefully closed the door, but I was soon entirely focused on the warmth of your arms around me and the knowledge that dawn had brought with it not oblivion, but endless, beautiful possibilities.

★

_Too much comfort, not enough hurt? Go hard or go home._

Ending One - Bitter | Ending Two - Bittersweet


End file.
